


on forgiveness, or how attempting to keep rachel berry out of your immediate circle of friends is just like invading troy, no, really

by driedvoices



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedvoices/pseuds/driedvoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artie and Rachel start hanging out. The glee club cannot let this affront to the social order stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on forgiveness, or how attempting to keep rachel berry out of your immediate circle of friends is just like invading troy, no, really

"You know," Artie says off-hand, after a good hour of watching Rachel verbally harass Puck for being out of tune and threaten to leave the club with all due melodrama, "you're kind of a jerk."

Rachel blinks, and it looks like a machine short-circuiting. 

"Just saying," Artie shrugs, and starts out of the music room. 

"You can't _just say_ that," Rachel sputters, sprinting after him. "What do you mean, I'm a jerk? I'm always very polite."

"Of course you are. You're the most sensitive and cordial tormentor I've ever had the pleasure of meeting." 

"But I'm not a jerk," Rachel protests with waning enthusiasm. 

"Whatever, Rach," Artie says. "It's not really anything personal. You're definitely not the only one, if it makes you feel any better."

"Not particularly."

"I've got a ride to catch," he says, glancing over his shoulder for a means of escape. On cue, his mom pulls into the lot. "I'll see you, okay?"

"Right," Rachel replies, but he doesn't acknowledge her, just wheels away. She sits down primly on the curb with her chin in her hands, brow furrowed. "But I'm _not_ ," she says finally, awaiting confirmation. The traffic flies by, catching her hair in the breeze. 

-

So Artie is kind of taken aback when Rachel corners him the next day, standing in his way like she was born, raised, and destined to die there. He sees the strangely determined glint in her eyes and decides that weirded out is probably a more accurate description. 

"Um. I kind of need to get through here."

"And so you will. Just as soon as you tell me why I'm a jerk."

Artie groans. There are times, he thinks, where learning to shut up would come in handy. "Look, I'm sorry I said that, I didn't mean it, can I go now?"

Rachel's brow wrinkles. "I don't need an apology. You did mean it, and I want to know how to fix it. That's all." She's looking at Artie like he's the one acting marginally insane. 

"Hey, is your mom on the way, Artie?" Schue calls from his car. Rachel glares at him but he's too far away to see it. 

"Yeah, she's here. I was just leaving," he replies, with a pointed look at Rachel. Grudgingly, she moves out of his way and lets him pass. 

"This isn't over, Artie Abrams!" she yells after him, something in her voice sounding disturbingly like a promise. "I'm going to be the nicest person you've ever met!"

Artie is, quite understandably, terrified. 

-

Then, _then_ , she does the unthinkable. She sits with him at lunch. 

The lunchtime hierarchy is a delicate thing. There are the jocks, of course, and the Cheerios and the rest of the popular girls who spend their time bitching about not making Cheerios. Then there are the crazy intelligent kids who no one dares call a nerd for fear that they'll spontaneously combust over their college applications or something. The really hardcore nerds, equipped with six-sided dice and breathing problems galore, sit on the other side of the cafeteria, surprisingly close to the grungy rock kids who always smell like weed (Artie used to float between the two tables. He's really glad he has a definite clique, now; the nerds all thought he was too cool to hang with them and he was never really stoned enough for the Cobain-worshippers). 

"Um," he says, staring at Rachel and praying she'll get the hint. She doesn't. 

"Look, Artie has a fanclub," Mercedes coos, but she shoots a good-natured grin at him, so he forgives her. 

"I thought you guys were my fanclub."

"Please," Kurt snorts. "Obviously everyone is here for me."

"Hey, Kurt," Quinn says seriously (she's been sitting with them since she got kicked off the Cheerios), "is that—mayonnaise in your hair?"

Kurt squeaks and pats gingerly at his head. He scowls, finding nothing there. 

"You wait," he threatens above everyone's giggling, "until you're not pregnant."

Quinn beams innocently and takes a demure bite of her mashed potatoes. 

Rachel, who has been silent up 'til now, clears her throat maturely, somehow managing to make that one small sound mean, "I do not approve of nor will take part in your juvenile shenanigans, and am personally ashamed to be breathing the same air as you children." The table sobers. 

"Streisand, don't you have an ex-boyfriend of mine to be lusting over?" Quinn asks, candy-coated acid.

"I fail to see how it is any of your concern," Rachel tells her, "but I have informed Finn of my absence from my usual table for a few days and he said he was fine with it."

"Relief, I imagine," Quinn says coolly, and Rachel's mouth drops open like she's about to spout a lengthy retort but she looks at Artie instead, biting down on her bottom lip. 

"Well," Tina says quietly, "not that this isn't delightfully awkward or anything, but who's up for a change of subject?" Artie smiles at her gratefully. 

"What do you suggest?" Mercedes asks thoughtfully. "Global warming, stressing out about Regionals? There's always Quinn's babymama drama, I guess, if we're desperate."

"I don't have babymama drama," Quinn protests lightly. "I'm the most dramaless babymama ever."

"And I'm sure that's what baby Fabray will say when she's old enough to hear the story about her two daddies beating the shit out of each other."

"Shut it, Kurt," she says, making a face and tossing a grape in his direction. "Besides, she'll have a whole club full of parents that are twice as messed up. I'm sure you'll be her favorite mommy."

"Somebody's got to teach her how to dress, Holly Hobbie. I like how you mix your heartwarming statements with insults. It's a very distinctive style."

"On that note," Artie interrupts, because there are only so many catty girls he can take at one time, "would someone like to explain to me how this school can make pizza taste like vomit every day of the week, but the fries are always fantastic?"

"I know, right," Kurt agrees, and steals one of Artie's for good measure. 

"They're probably full of trans fat," Rachel pipes up. "The grease is dripping off of them. I can practically see your arteries clogging."

The table goes silent again, and Artie imagines that everyone is trying to restrain themselves from banging their heads against the nearest wall. 

"Oh, look at the time, " Kurt says to his bare wrist. "Wouldn't you know it, it's time for my midday facial. Gotta run."

"Oh, yeah, Tina. We've got that thing, girl, remember?" Mercedes says with her head tilted deliberately toward the door.

"Right, right, the thing. That we have to go do. Now." Tina nods fervently. 

"I'm not going to lie to you," Quinn says, standing up to follow everyone else out of the cafeteria, "You are quite possibly the most annoying person I've ever met and it is painful to watch you fumble around in social situations. Have a good day, Patti."

Rachel gapes, kind of torn between crying and being impressed that she actually knows who Patti LuPone is. 

"I'm sorry," Artie says, strained. 

"I really did try," she says quietly."What did I do?"

"Well, you kind of talk down to people. All the time. It really is a little annoying."

"What do you _mean_?" Rachel says, exasperated. "You seem to know everything that's wrong with me that I've never even _noticed_ and you never seem to be able to tell me how to fix it."

Artie considers telling her that he doesn't even know half of what's wrong with her, but she looks dangerously close to crying and he is not _that_ tactless. "Okay. Okay, look. You know how a teacher or your parents or whoever will talk to you sometimes in that way that makes you feel about three inches tall, like you're just some stupid kid who doesn't know anything?"

"No," Rachel says with such honesty that Artie is a little lost for words. 

"Oh," he says, and swallows. "Well, I don't. I don't know, Rachel."

"I hate not knowing," she whispers. 

-

After school, Rachel stands up in front of the club and says she has an announcement to make. Artie is surprised to find that he doesn't even feel the urge to sigh. Even odder is the fact that he gets kind of ticked off when he sees Kurt roll his eyes and Puck shake his head. Weird. 

"I would like to formally apologize for my behavior in the cafeteria today. I realize now that it was unacceptable. In the future I will dedicate myself to being less painfully annoying." Quinn shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Artie shrugs. 

Rachel inhales and gives a quick nod, going back to sit by Finn. "What happened?" he whispers, but she shakes her head and shushes him. Practice goes on. 

-

Rachel finds him outside again the next day, and he's kind of disturbed to find that he doesn't mind the company. Surely this is the first sign of his deteriorating mental state. He nods to her as she approaches. 

"Hi," she says. Artie goes to reply but she cuts him off, a jittery timbre to her voice. "Look, before you ask me to leave and then wheel away under false pretenses—again—I just wanted to give you this. These."

A Tupperware box materializes out of thin air (from behind her back) and she lifts the lid. Artie peers inside and a handful of cookies shout "I'M SORRY" at him in various shades of neon. He stares up at Rachel in confusion. 

"You baked me cookies."

"Yes."

"Rachel, why did—"

"Look, I don't know what constitutes being nice for you. But being nice for me is baked goods with apologetic idioms written on them in multi-colored frosting so will you please, _please_ just eat a cookie?"

Artie is perhaps stunned into silence, but he takes a cookie and nibbles obligingly. "Um. They're very good. Is that almond?"

"Almond extract," Rachel shrugs, and decides she's satisfied.

"I wasn't going to leave," he says after a reasonable silence. "Just so you know."

"Really?" she says, cocking her head. She crouches down next to him, and Artie helps himself to another cookie. "I figured, after today—"

"Everyone was kind of out of line today," Artie says, careful not to spew crumbs everywhere. "I mean, you didn't really _do_ anything to be sorry about." She smiles up at him, and he's kind of surprised by the warmth of it. 

"Their behavior was to be expected," she says, with her old bravado. "I know that it's just a jealous reaction to my obviously superior talent."

"Right," Artie says, both appalled and amazed by her mood-killing abilities. "Actually, you know, my mom just pulled up, so I'd better be going."

Rachel huffs and watches him leave. It's a start, at least. She gives a little wave as they drive by and Artie waves back, even if it's a little half-hearted. He catches himself smiling a little and blinks rapidly, because _what_. He did not just have an almost-heartwarming moment with Rachel Berry. His life is not that Disney movie. 

Then, of course, it has to start freaking _raining_ , like the universe is just trying to remind him that she walks home and only a horrible, horrible person would make a girl walk home in the rain, We're Looking At _You_ , Artie Abrams.

"Hey, Mom," he says, and his mother turns her head. "Could we stop for a sec?" She nods, and he rolls down the window to Rachel, who is muttering curses and shuffling through her bag. 

"Hi," he calls, "are you going to be able to get home okay?" She looks up at him and she looks kind of like a drowned cat, wide-eyed with her hair all wet and stuck to her. 

"Yes. No. I mean," she pauses and sighs, wiping water out of her eyes. "I think I left my key at home, and my dads aren't going to be home until six, and I was going to wait inside but the really muscular lady-janitor just locked me out—"

"You can chill at my house," Artie cuts her off. "Get in."

She smiles gratefully and opens the door. 

The car ride is mostly his mom and Rachel talking about, like, Obama and how Rachel's dads are gay, because his mom likes to feel like she's all progressive and politically correct, or whatever, and that suits Artie just fine, because he's too busy thinking things like:

a) holy shit, he just invited Rachel Berry to his _house_ , he is losing his damn mind, 

b) holy shit, he just invited Rachel Berry to his _house_ , what if she has a little diva-fit and starts lecturing him for not owning a piano?, and

c) wonder if she likes those little microwaveable pizzas that his mom buys, 'cause he is seriously starving.

When they get to his house, he brings point c to light, and it turns out that Rachel loves those pizza things. Awesome. 

-

There are posters on Artie's walls of sci-fi movies, most of them mildly foreign to her, like Star Wars and Star Trek and the rest of those shows about spaceships and laser swords, but there are bits that Rachel recognizes pasted there, too: old playbills, newspaper articles, scenes from old cartoons. 

"I used to watch this," Rachel says with easy nostalgia, "every Saturday morning, right?"

"Yeah," Artie says, "I brought you a towel. You know, for your hair or whatever." Rachel smiles and takes it from him. "It still comes on, you know. The cartoon."

"We're a little too old for it now, aren't we?" She tries her best not to drip on his carpet.

"Not really," Artie says. "Do you really think that?" 

"Well, yes. We are in high school, after all."

"We're still kids, Rachel. Maybe that's your problem. I promise the world will not fall out of orbit if you act your age for once."

"I suppose I'm still a jerk, then?"

"Well, sort of," Artie says thoughtfully. "But now that there's a diagnosis, there can be a cure. You shall learn, my young padawan." 

"What?"

Artie fights the urge to sigh. 

In lieu of, like, literally banging his head against a wall, he digs out a couple tapes containing the entirety of the show in question and guides Rachel toward the living room. They stay there until Rachel's dads come to pick her up, lamenting the loss of quality television nowadays and reveling in the comic genius of a simple pie to the face. At some point, Artie catches a glimpse of her face. She's laughing, her face stretched in a smile, eyes squinted and shoulders slouched. It stays with him, and it takes him a few hours to figure out what it is that's so odd about it. 

She looked normal. She looked happy.

-

Artie henceforth dubs every Thursday movie-slash-cartoon night, which works out brilliantly once he convinces Rachel to take a break from her workout regimen. And from singing. And from talking about singing. He catches her humming the theme song to Scooby Doo while she's making popcorn one night and very nearly calls her on cheating, but decides against it.

So classic animation is a good starting point, since she's been exposed to some of it, at least. But Artie, for some reason, feels compelled to make sure her venture into the land of the nerd is well-rounded. So when he asks for her stance on sci-fi and her reply is "What, like X-Men?" he knows what must come next. 

"You've seriously never seen The Matrix?"

"No," Rachel says, and shakes her head. "Is that exceptionally weird or something?"

"Just watch," Artie replies and pops the DVD in. 

Three hours later, Artie turns on the lights to find Rachel's face screwed up in confusion. "What just happened?" she asks.

"Exactly," he says with a grin. 

"No, really," she repeats, tilting her head, "what just happened? I honestly think I missed something."

"Nah, that's how it's supposed to be."

She blinks. "I'm not supposed to understand it."

"Right."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."

" _That_ is Keanu Reeves."

-

Then Artie notices that everyone is starting to act strange. He's thinking about it as he wheels into school and he bumps into a very solid piece of gay boy. 

"Whoa," Kurt says, and holds his hands palms-out in front of him, mouth a perfect 'o' of shock. "Please tell me you did not just get out of the same vehicle as Rachel Berry."

"Okay," Artie obliges, "I did not just get out of the same vehicle as Rachel Berry."

"Do you realize what this means?" Kurt sputters. 

"Uh," Artie says and wrinkles his forehead, "it means she called me this morning and asked for a ride?"

Kurt makes a noise that Artie can only approximate to a shriek."You are hopeless. We _just_ emerged from the bottom of the food chain and you are just sliding down the metaphorical rungs all over again."

"To be fair," Artie says dryly, "I'm not really much of a climber."

"Metaphorically!" Kurt chirps. 

-

She sits with them at lunch that day, too. She and Artie have an animated conversation about whether or not Nickelodeon trumps Disney. 

The others are not amused. 

-

"Okay, emergency meeting," Mercedes whispers.

"I'm assuming that's why you just pulled me under a table," Quinn says dryly. 

"Yeah, that kind of hurt," Tina mumbles and rubs at her forehead. 

"You'll be okay," Mercedes assures her. "Anyway, to business. What are we going to do about our little problem?"

"What problem?" 

"The problem of your boyfriend suddenly being besties with Rachel Berry," Quinn drawls. 

"He's not my boyfriend!" Tina says quickly. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, except that if I have to see her at our lunch table one more time, I will literally vomit up my intestines."

"Uh, I appreciate the theatrics, but gross," Mercedes says with her eyebrow raised. "Anyway. Tina, you've got to talk some sense into him. It's for his own good."

"I don't know—"

"Or do you want to hear her lecture about the many reasons why you will never be as good as she is _on a daily basis_?"

Tina's gaze narrows. "What do I do?"

-

A few days later (because it takes her a while to operate, _Jesus_ , cut a girl some slack), Tina walks up to Artie's locker, with almost-steely resolve. 

"Hi," she says, chewing on her lip. 

"Hey, Tina," Artie smiles up at her, which makes this, like, fifty thousand times harder. "What's up?"

"Nothing, really, I just. I was wondering if you, I mean. Are you doing anything school?" She makes a note to go slam her head against a desk a few times once this is over. 

"Actually, I kind of have a movie night thing with Rachel on Thursdays," and this sucks all kinds of ass, because he looks genuinely _sorry_ and she was expecting the Artie that still hated her guts a little. 

"Oh, that's, uh. That's okay. So, you and Rachel—"

"No! I mean, not like that. She just doesn't have a lot of friends, you know? And she's actually pretty nice."

"That's one word for it," Tina mutters. 

"I mean it," Artie says, and there's something akin to disappointment in his face. "Anyway. I'll see you, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Tina echoes, clutching her books a little tighter. She starts back down the hallway.

"Oh, and Tina?"

She spins around so fast she thinks she gets whiplash, a little. "Yeah?"

"You've got a bruise on your forehead. Just—so you know."

She waits until he's safely out of earshot before she traipses down to the soda machine where Mercedes and Quinn are hiding. Kurt's there, too, for some reason; she doesn't question it. Instead, she punches Mercedes in the arm. 

"That is for the goose-egg on my face right now," Tina informs her, and Quinn tries to stifle a giggle. 

"Vengeance is all well and good, but we have made, like, zero actual progress here. We've made negative progress," Kurt says as he leans against the wall. He pulls his sunglasses down over his face to complete the look. "Your thinly veiled flirting is cute, but ultimately ineffective. We need reinforcements, because I am not sitting next to _that_ for the rest of the year."

"You li-ike him," Quinn sing-songs, and Tina would totally punch her, too, if she weren't pregnant. 

-

They watch the first Lord of the Rings movie that night, and she doesn't even laugh at him when he starts jabbing her arm emphatically and unconsciously fanboying Aragorn. She even tears up a little when Boromir dies. 

Rachel Berry is the coolest girl-friend-who-is-not-a-girlfriend _ever_.

-

Then Finn calls him, which, Finn's a cool guy but they don't _talk_ , really, so yeah, kind of weird.

"So, do you, like, need something?"

"Not really," Finn drawls. "Well, _I_ don't, but Kurt told me that I needed to call and tell you to stop hanging around with Rachel, and Mercedes told me to, too, so, uh. Quit it, I guess."

"Right. Okay," Artie says, staring at his ceiling in confusion. "Speaking of Rachel, man, how do you. I mean, what do you talk to her about, you know?"

"I kind of generally stick to not talking," Finn admits, and Artie cringes. "But whatever you do, don't say anything about how short her skirts are or Liza Minnelli."

"Do you even know who Liza Minnelli is?" Artie wonders.

"Well, no, that was the problem. If you have some serious desire to talk to her, then, I don't know. She likes musicals and old movies. Her dads are always talking about politics and stuff, so if you're into that—oh, and there's this place on her ribcage where she's super ticklish if she gets pissed at you about something—"

"There is such a thing as too much information, dude. G-rated version, please?"

"Sorry, sorry. You're not trying to get into her pants or anything, are you?"

"Uh, no."

"Can't fault a guy for worrying," and Artie can practically hear his shrug. "So, um. How's Quinn?"

"She's good," Artie says awkwardly. "Really good."

"Is she hanging around with Puck a lot?"

"Not really," Artie replies, which is not completely a lie because he doesn't know what she gets up to other than at the lunch table. "I think she'd kind of like it if you wanted to talk to her again. Just as friends."

"Yeah," Finn murmurs. "Maybe someday. Hey, uh, if it's okay, I'm gonna hang up now. Chores, and stuff, you know—"

"Yeah, sure. See you."

-

Artie takes Finn's advice and has a copy of The Day the Earth Stood Still (the original, not the crappy new one) ready to go by the next movie night. When Rachel gets there, however, she has a smiling Finn in tow. 

"Is this okay?" she asks him in a low whisper, "I mean, I realize that this has previously been a you and me thing, but he wanted to tag along, and—"

"No, no, it's fine," he says, and he is definitely not thinking of pretty Asian girls he can invite to come hang out, no sir. "Hey, Finn," he calls over Rachel's shoulder, and Finn grins and claps him on the shoulder while Rachel goes to the kitchen to fish out some sodas. 

"I figure this way I get to hang out with both of you, and watch some movies, and make sure that you weren't lying about getting in Rachel's pants," Finn explains. Artie raises an eyebrow. "I'm kidding. Mostly."

The cinematic genius is kind of wasted on Finn, but Rachel loves it, and when she comes back half-way through the movie with a fresh bowl of popcorn, she suggests they watch The Big Sleep next. 

Watching Humphrey Bogart kick ass and take names with the quarterback and the resident drama queen. He could get used to this. 

-

"Okay, this was not supposed to happen." Kurt is kind of gnawing on his lip in a way that he'll regret later. 

"Oh, yes, brilliant plan. Let's try and get Mr. Everyone's Best Friend to break up a bromance," Quinn says, complete with flailing arms. 

"Are we calling it a bromance?" Tina thinks aloud. "I mean, _can_ we technically—"

"Tina. It's Rachel. I'm calling it whatever." 

"I think what we need is some recon," Mercedes grins wickedly. 

Tina backs away. "No. Nu-uh. We tried this already, it failed miserably. Pick someone else." They're all still staring. 

She sighs. "You guys suck."

-

The movie place doesn't have a copy of The Big Sleep, not even on VHS ("Philistines," Rachel grumbles), so they end up having an impromptu Daria marathon instead. 

"So, am I Kevin?" Finn says, scratching his head. 

"Kind of," Rachel says, patting him on the leg sympathetically. "I think I'm Jodie."

"You're not black," Artie points out. 

"I have two dads and I'm Jewish. I think I am still technically a minority."

"I think you're still technically full of shit," he teases, and she pokes him in the ribs.

"Who does that make you, then, Artie?" Finn asks. Artie takes a long, dramatic pause to think.

"I," he says finally, "am Trent." They both crack up. "What? How do you not see it? The resemblance is uncanny."

"Whatever you say," Finn grins. 

"Who do you think Tina would be," Rachel says, smiling mischievously, "Jane or Andrea?"

"She's too pretty to be Andrea," Artie says without thinking. 

"Aw," Rachel croons, and goes to pinch his cheek. 

"Cut it out, that's not what I meant. I just. Whatever. Brittany is still Brittany, though, right?"

"Most definitely," she agrees. 

"Speaking of Cheerios," Artie segues, cutting his eyes at Finn. Rachel gets the hint. 

"Have you spoken to Quinn lately?" she asks softly. 

"What? I don't—why does it matter?" Finn stammers, dropping his eyes. 

"You two are important to each other. Even if it's not like that anymore." Rachel laces her fingers through his and smiles. "She could probably use an old friend right now."

"She's got Puck," he says with as much venom as he can muster (which isn't a lot, it's _Finn_ , seriously). "Why are you so worried about her being happy, anyway? She's terrible to you."

"Not anymore," she lies smoothly. Artie almost believes her. 

"I think what she's trying to say is that sometimes people need do-overs, dude," he supplies, and Finn shrugs. 

"Whatever. Let's get back to the show, yeah?"

-

"Hey," Finn says in the middle of Spanish, and it wouldn't be weird except he's saying it to Quinn. 

"Um," she says, sitting up a little bit straighter, "hi."

"Listen," he says, and stops for a second, wrinkling his brow in a way that makes it painfully obvious to her that it's literally hurting him to speak to her. "I just was wondering how you are. Or how you've been. And if you'd rather just not be friends again, that's fine, I get it, but, uh—"

"Are you for real?" Quinn says, a little shocked, and it must have come out louder than she anticipated because Schue's giving her a look that clearly says _you're pushing it_ , so she spins around in her seat and starts scribbling on a piece of paper. 

The note that lands on Finn's desk looks something like this: 

_if you're being serious, then yes, i'd love it if we could be alright again. really._

_-q_

In the hallway after class, Rachel catches her eye. Quinn opens her mouth, poised to call out to her, but she stops, turns towards her locker instead. 

-

Kurt is staring into the mirror in his locker, prodding at the dark circles under his eyes, when Quinn wrenches his arm and pulls him into the nearest alcove. She has a surprisingly strong grip for someone so blonde and pregnant. 

"Sweetie, I know you're doubtlessly attracted to my effervescent charm and flawless sense of style, but I don't do those things in school hallways. Have some _class_."

"Hush, this is serious," Quinn says, and puts a little extra pressure on his arm for emphasis. "It's about the Rachel situation."

"What about it?" Kurt asks, pulling away from her and straightening his clothes. 

"I think we should maybe take it easy on her."

Kurt's 'bitch, _please_ ' face is really impressive. She vaguely wonders how much he practiced it in the mirror. 

"Why, why, _why_ would we do that, you brain-addled—"

"Hello, Kurt."

"Rachel," he acknowledges with a wince. "What brings you here?"

"Initially I was going to wish you luck," she begins, and Kurt finds himself inexplicably frustrated with a wrinkle in her blouse.

"Luck?"

"Schuester's been on an Evita kick lately. He's doing open try-outs "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" and I thought it would be sportsmanlike to extend my well-wishes."

"How quaint, don't you have a senior citizen's closet to raid or something? I'm in the middle of something."

"I mean, since I'm obviously going to win, it's the only polite thing to do," she finishes with a glare. "I hope that one day you grow out of that awkward in-between vocal range and maybe scrape up the talent to sing something other than 'la's in the background." She stalks off, leaving two gaping mouths in her wake. 

"Um, whoa," Quinn says with a nervous giggle, "that was actually a really good burn." Kurt is seething; it's not pretty. "You'll wrinkle your forehead if you keep doing that, you know." She pets his brow with motherly affection. 

"That is _it_ ," Kurt says with quiet fury. "Now shit is getting real."

("Uh, Rach?" Artie says, having witnessed the whole thing. 

"I know," she sighs. "That was really obnoxious and mean and I should have kept my mouth shut."

"Well—"

"And I can't bake apology cookies for him because he'll say something about it clogging his pores, which is a lie because he _knows_ I only use organic—"

"Rachel—"

"I'm sorry, I was impulsive and rude."

"I was just going to say _nice_ burn.")

"Okay," Tina says, wandering up and looking kind of breathless, "they have movie nights every Thursday, and I heard Artie telling Finn that it was going to be at Rachel's this week because Artie's mom isn't going to be home and she has a no-girls-in-the-house-unchaperoned rule."

"Excellent," Kurt says, brow knitted. ("Seriously," Quinn says, "who are you and what have you done with Kurt? _Wrinkles_.")

"Are we done with this now? Please?" Tina begs. 

"My dear Tina," Kurt tuts, "we have only just begun."

-

And that's how approximately two-thirds of the New Directions end up camped in the bushes outside Rachel Berry's house. It's also how Tina discovers the sprinkler system.

"So what's the game plan? Over," says Kurt into the walkie-talkie. There may or may not be grease paint under his eyes. 

"Why are you using that thing, freak? You guys are two feet away from each other," quips Santana, who must have appeared in a cloud of magic Cheerio dust or something because holy shit, she was definitely not there two seconds ago. Kurt jumps. 

"Quinn, one of your skank-bitches is breathing on me. Make it stop."

"Oh, shut up, you 'mo, before I make you bleed all over Berry's lawn."

Quinn groans. "She's not my skank-bitch. Santana, be—wait, what _are_ you doing here? Just out of curiosity."

"What, do I need to buy a ticket to watch Granny-Panties cry, now?" Santana shrugs and rolls her eyes. 

"Uh, guys? Not that standing dripping wet in Rachel's yard isn't, like, my _favorite_ place to be or anything, but are you sure this is a good idea?" A black-nailed hand extends from the shrubbery on the other side of the lawn, where Tina's disembodied voice floats out. 

"Tina, I am pregnant, I am in a dress, and I am kneeling with only a seventy-five percent chance that I'll be able to get back up again. If I can survive this, then so can your moral compass," Quinn hisses.

"I'm terribly sorry that I don't think suffering so we can make Rachel feel like human scum is the noblest of sacrifices," Tina shoots back. "If Artie likes hanging out with her, then maybe, _just maybe_ , we should give her a chance."

"Homegirl's got a point," Mercedes crackles over the speaker in Kurt's hand. 

"Thank you, I'm glad _someone_ is on board with this walkie-talkie thing," Kurt replies. 

"Whatever," Tina says, "I'm out. Anybody else?"

"Look," Kurt pipes up, doing away with the walkie-talkie, "I can forgive you for the whole trashy goth thing you've got going on, and I know you think that you're being Artie's true friend or whatever, but we are at the gates of the enemy. This is our Trojan horse. You can't just _ruin_ it."

"Watch me," she replies, and stands up. "Look, this is exactly what all those football players did to you. I don't like Rachel anymore than you guys, but why should we get to decide who he can be friends with? If hanging out with Rachel makes him happy, then she's being a lot more of a friend to him than you guys are." Her tongue trips over the last couple words, just out of habit, and then she squeezes her eyes shut because everyone is _staring_. 

But they're not staring at her. They're staring past her. Namely at Finn's car, which has been parked in the driveway for roughly the amount of time she was monologuing. 

Tina's eyes are still closed when two arms wrap tightly around her waist and the scent of raspberry chocolate chip sneaks up her nose. 

"Finn picked us up after school," Artie says stiffly from behind her. "We went for ice cream." He holds his cone up in the air, as evidence. 

"Thank you," Rachel whispers into Tina's hair, and Tina smiles somberly, laying a hand on Rachel's wrist. That seems to jolt her back to her senses because she sniffles and straightens up. Her mouth falls open as she surveys the small crowd assembled on her lawn, but it shuts just as quickly and she marches inside. 

"Hey, um, Tina?" Artie says before following her in. "We were gonna watch Star Wars, if you want to maybe hang out for a while. It's Episode IV. And we've got popcorn and root beer." 

She looks taken about for a second, but she rubs her neck and says, "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good." Artie stares at the ground, flushing, and she pushes him into the house. 

"Not cool, guys," Finn says. Quinn can't look up at him. "Really not fucking cool." She winces when she hears the door slam. 

"We're really kind of stupid, aren't we," Mercedes says after a sizeable silence. 

"Understatement of the year," Kurt says, unblinking in his shock. 

"What, you guys don't honestly feel bad about this, do you?" Santana says with half a laugh in her voice, rocking back on her heels. "That's what you wanted to happen, isn't it?"

"Santana," Quinn reprimands, "shut up."

She scoffs. "This is really fucking rich. What's the matter, Q? That maternal instinct kicking in? Because, see, it used to be that _this_ is what you considered fun."

"Santana!" and she's yelling now, no two ways about it, "Fuck. Off."

"Whatever," Santana shrugs noncommittally and springs to her feet, "this got boring a long time ago."

"It really says something about you when it takes a morally bankrupt cheerleader to show you the error of your ways, huh," says Kurt, and Quinn barks out a laugh. 

"So what do we do now?" Mercedes asks, and Kurt sighs. 

"I don't know. Seek psychiatric help?" 

"We grovel," Quinn says. "We get down on our knees and beg forgiveness until we have the worst rugburn known to man or until they forgive us." 

"What if they don't?" Kurt says, almost a whine, and it's a scary notion.

"You guys forgave me, right?" Quinn asks desperately. It's quiet for a long time. 

"Artie was trying to get Finn to talk to me again," she says finally. "I don't want to be with him anymore, but. I wanted us to be okay. Friends again."

"Rachel was helping him, wasn't she," Mercedes says, and Quinn exhales.

"Probably. I didn't even think about it until now. But yeah, I think she was. And this is how I thanked her." 

"We'll fix this," Kurt says, and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We were—really terrible. But we'll fix it. If anybody believes in second chances it's glee kids, right?"

"This is true," says a familiar nasal drone from behind them, "especially for Rachel. She helped me open my locker just last week, even after she threatened to file a restraining order." 

"Oh, holy shit, when did Jewfro get there?" Kurt says, leaning back against Quinn in terror. 

"Actually, my name is Jacob," says Jacob, but nobody's really listening. 

"I'm going to leave now," Quinn says slowly, and Mercedes nods. Kurt kind of falls backwards, clutching at their legs until he stumbles to his feet. 

Jewfro shrugs and settles back into his spot in the bushes; a typical Thursday night.

-

School the next day is every bit as painful as they imagined it would be. Nobody's seen Finn this mad since the whole baby drama went down. Artie won't look at anyone. Tina's worse, because she looks at them with _pity_ , which is almost too much for Kurt to take. 

"I can't do this," he says flatly. "I can't do this. Just lock me in my room for the rest of my high school career and I'll bemoan the loss of my friends and my dignity." The cafeteria lighting makes him look even paler.

"You knew this was gonna suck," Mercedes reminds him. She starts to say "it'll get easier," but bites back the words. 

"You know what?" Quinn says suddenly. "Fuck this. I'm just going to go talk to her."

"She's insane," Kurt says with pride, watching her traipse purposely toward Rachel's table. 

"She's gonna be a great mom," Mercedes agrees.

"Rachel?" Quinn says, swallowing hard. Rachel looks up at her, and there's no contempt or anger in her face; she looks open. Honest. 

"I was just wondering—"

"What are you doing here?" Finn snaps, sitting down beside Rachel and snaking a protective arm around her waist. Artie is close behind him, staring at her hard. Tina's eyes are on her lap. 

"I—just. You know what? Nevermind." Quinn blinks furiously and starts to turn away.

"Wait," Rachel pipes up. "Quinn, stay there for a second, okay?"

"Um, alright," she says nervously, rubbing her arm in awkward tension. 

Rachel pulls Finn and Artie in close, whispering with violent fervor. Quinn hears words like _i don't care_ and _that's not the point_. But then Finn and Artie are quiet for a good minute and a half, just listening to whatever Rachel is saying, and whatever it is Quinn can see the hesitation written on their faces. Finally, Finn gives a nod, short and grudging, and Rachel beams at him. She raises her head and her smile only dims slightly when it hits Quinn. 

"What were you going to say?" she prompts gently.

"Just that," Quinn says and inhales deeply. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything and I know that it doesn't make it okay but we want to make up for it eventually, if you let us, and it would be really great if you wanted to come sit with us today." She speaks so quickly she's amazed that Rachel doesn't ask her to repeat it. 

"We'd love to," she says simply.

-

And it's only been, what, two weeks? But it's almost like nothing ever happened. It's kind of awesome what people are capable of, sometimes, Artie thinks. Like how Rachel's able to forgive everyone so easily. How Kurt is trying to stop making fun of her and start trying to bond over, like, Broadway instead. How Finn is slowly but surely inching up to an actual conversation with Quinn again. How Artie, god help him, is starting to find Rachel's overbearing demeanor _endearing._

"This is a little bit weird," he says, and Rachel nods in agreement, because yeah, it is. The whole club is sitting in her basement, getting ready to watch Harry Potter because it's the only thing they could agree on. Even Santana showed up, although she is mildly sedated by Brittany carding fingers through her hair. 

"I like it, though," Rachel says softly, and Artie smiles. He does, too. Tina comes and sits beside them and sets a bowl of popcorn in his lap, letting her arm rest really close to his. He really likes this, actually. 

"So what do you say?" she says, with a sudden determination that can only be associated with Rachel Berry. "Am I still a jerk?"

"You know," Artie muses. "I think you are. But we're all kind of jerks, aren't we?"

"No," Rachel says, and Artie cocks his head at her. "We're all kind of human," she clarifies, and steals his popcorn.


End file.
